


no one can do the things i'm gonna wanna do to you

by r1ker



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M, Season 1 Finale, there was an ambulance and i just went with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 03:04:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3879796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r1ker/pseuds/r1ker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>they've made it to the warehouse, what's supposed to be their safe spot, when two out of the group indulge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no one can do the things i'm gonna wanna do to you

**Author's Note:**

> **SPOILERS** gobblepot ain't canon, i took a little free liberty with that danged ambulance, and out came this monster
> 
> season two countdown begins

There’s some downtime as they get to the warehouse. Hell, the engine of the ambulance is all but ruined, smoke’s pouring out from the grill, what else is there to do but sit and dwell on the train wreck the day’s become?

 

            Jim sits on the ledge of the ambulance’s back. He’s tired, his chest still aching and arms tense from firing at those goons that came for Maroni. He was given the task of protecting him and not the two others that came along with it, the penguin and whoever his assistant is.

 

            He’s mulling over just how unnecessarily complicated his job’s become with Oswald rounds the corner, some sort of concern on his face.

 

            “I hope you have some sort of elaborate plan to get us out of this ramshackle,” Oswald begins to scold but Jim silences him, raising a hand.

 

            “Stop,” he cuts in. “Just give me a few more seconds where I’m free of whatever the hell you have to lay into me about.” A couple beats of tense silence pass between them and for a second Jim thinks he sees regret cross across Oswald’s face. Jim still doesn’t have any sort of resentment for what he said. This is Oswald’s mess, and Jim will be damned if he is to clean it alone.

 

            “I’m sorry, Jim,” Oswald mumbles, perching on an edge of the seat Jim occupies. When Jim leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and hiding his face in the cradle of his palms, he feels a hand settle between his shoulder blades. He leans away from the touch almost instantaneously, feeling a great disturbance in the bubble of his safety that was almost destroyed only hours before. Oswald pulls his hand back like he’s been burned.

 

            Oswald mimes him but turns his head more towards Jim’s, weathered face mirroring his. From this angle he can see the creases around Jim’s eyes, remember the tension that put them there, dwell on all the stress he has caused this man with actions he could not help but perform. At this point in the day, where dusk settles over Gotham like a tablecloth, silence is best shared rather than nightcaps.

 

            The warehouse darkens quickly to the point that Jim’s face is obscured by dark shadows only made lighter by yellow blocks of light from the street lamp nearby. Oswald takes him in like a drink of water, having nothing else to supply to the conversation.

 

It’s a shame, Oswald realizes, just how good of a man went away to waste in the police force. No doubt Oswald’s seen men of his creed, strong and brusque, frequenting the brothels and bars that Fish took him to long ago before this melee began. He was tasked with grading them from profitable to poor and took great pride in doing so. After all, he was a sucker for power, something his recruits all brought to the table. But no, Jim’s not that type, not easily sold and swapped in an underground.

When he can see Jim’s not as tightly wound as he was before, he goes for Jim’s chin, wanting a better look at those rugged features to better strengthen his judgment. Jim jerks back but gives in when Oswald strengthens his grip. The fine grain of forgotten facial hair scrapes against the whorls of Oswald’s fingertips. Jim’s eyes flicker, not quite blinking but lowering to obscure his view of Oswald.

 

“I don’t know quite what you want from me, Oswald,” Jim finally says. “I’ve done everything I can for you and I’m still confused.” Oswald shakes his head and for a second he doesn’t even know why. Jim knows, in Oswald’s mind, exactly what he wants. He wants fulfillment, something the shit that gone down in the last few weeks hasn’t quite been finished as of yet.

 

“I don’t want anything of substance from you, Jim,” Oswald says, too quiet to be considered his usual tone. “I do want you to know one thing. I’ve thought about you, day in and day out, since our little… tryst began.”

 

Jim’s mouth goes dry almost on reflex. Just what the hell does that mean? Has he thought about killing him, dragging a blade across Jim’s throat until the streets of Gotham, his streets, ran red with his blood? Has he thought about rigging him up for a run in with Fish, take care of him quick like that? In no circumstance does this come out positive on Oswald’s end, Jim reckons.

 

“I went home one night and laid there on my bed in the dark, nothing but the lights outside to provide me room to see. The sheets were cool against me and it was almost certain I would sleep for long and deeply. It didn’t take much to have me thinking on a different course other than rest. I first thought about what you did when you went home in the evenings. What you went home to, whom you went home to…” his voice trails off. His voice has changed pitch slightly, Jim can tell, words taking on some foreign tone that Jim couldn’t decipher right away.

 

“I bet it was Lee, or rather yet, Dr. Thompkins, I should say. She frequents your home, doesn’t she? Her perfume bottles and compacts on your dresser, becoming tangled with your cologne and gear. Undoubtedly an unexpected aspect of your simple life, I reckon. I’ll think about that and what element I would bring to your life,” Oswald confesses and Jim, slowly becoming overwhelmed by what’s being said to him, brings his breathing to a stutter-stop. Jesus, what’s he gotten himself into? “I would be present but not in the way she is. A passing aspect of your life, someone who flits in to inflict massive change in all sorts of form and then dissipates into the chaos. I don’t want to change you but how you live.”

 

Jim can’t help but let him continue. He’s got him held so tightly, with words and with gentle hands that it’d be impractical to shy away now. He relaxes to let Oswald know his words are being processed and applied accordingly to the various centers of Jim’s brain charged with comprehending them.

 

“I’ll keep on thinking about you, your very essence, the cut of your hair, the bulk of your body beneath that uniform and the suits, and your jaw, the way you carry yourself when you’re around Harvey and other cops. You’re quite proud of making it this far, aren’t you? Such a big shot in that bullpen, calling out all sorts of things that don’t fit your quality of man. It’s more than enough to pleasure more than one of my senses. But sometimes you falter, as we all do. Something’s missing from your hubris, Jim. You need stability Lee, your job, and your personality don’t deliver. You need touch. Sure, you’re touched on the daily, by the most unsavory pairs of hands, by Lee when she sees you grappling with all you saw on the job, but you still warrant another brand of contact outside of malice or comfort.”

 

“I wouldn’t have any reservations about touching you,” Oswald confesses on top of all he’s said to Jim. Jim’s no doubt bewildered by what he’s being told but his cock takes interest, stirs in his bloodied pants against Jim’s strong objections to it. “I’d start slow, working out that tension your neck has almost every time you and I cross paths. I would, however, let you touch me. You crave that as well, having the ability to take possession of someone and work him or her into an arousal of your liking. I’ve thought about that too, having you touch me. Many, many moons ago it would have brought me to climax almost instantaneously, the pull of my hand alongside thoughts of you making me come like I was doing it secretly. I had no shame, and I was unabated in how I pleasured myself to the thought of you taking me with those primal instincts men like you have. The first few times I dreaded seeing you afterwards. Now I do it just as often as I wake up, get dressed, and deal with my business. You are an important part of me and I regret absolutely nothing.” He releases Jim’s face with a sigh and sits back on his side of the metal seat.

 

Jim sees stars. He can’t even hide it, for there are spots of his vision rendered black by the attention he just received. He’s hard as a fucking rock, hard as he’s been in the last several months, and he crosses his hands over his lap to hide the effect of the words. Oswald’s just returned to a regular sitting position, back straight and hands resting on his folded legs when Jim jerks him right on back into his bubble, crushing his mouth against his.

 

Oswald tenses up so quickly but it’s obviously not negative, just surprised. His hands go to either side of Jim’s neck and hold on for dear life. Jim’s a first timer, he feels like, not knowing what to do with his hands and his tongue, choosing instead to stay behind the barriers and keep it as chaste as his passion will let him. Oswald seems to want more, dipping his tongue tentatively into Jim’s mouth.

 

Jim accepts and tries to do the same. His heart’s beating so fast he’s afraid it’ll tear out of his chest in some grotesque display of teenage passion. His hands are tingling with anxiety and the pit of his stomach proposes revolt against all that is happening. No one else has ever had such cataclysmic effects on Jim; he even goes so far as to search his mental Rolodex for affairs in the past that produced the same sensations. Lungs burning for breath and head swimming in the fog he pulls away long enough to regain composure.

 

Oswald looks at him in a different way than before, viewing Jim as an indulgence rather than a pity. His mouth’s tainted with Jim, whiskey’s burn and adrenaline’s bitter bite. Jim will admit to himself later, when he’s gone from this situation, that for a second he could taste the very essence of Oswald. It’s, dare he revert back to his days of pining after girls in high school, intoxicating. A new delicacy he had no prior knowledge about, maybe, just maybe, Oswald has the potential to be such a thing.

 

Jim looks down and sees their hands tangled together. He gives a brief stroke to the textured surface of Oswald’s palm.

 

“That was nice,” Jim confesses like he’s under pressure from a higher power. “Oh, God, I shouldn’t have… but I did, and. that’s that.” He huffs a little laugh and Oswald develops a line between his brows. Some symbol of distress, and Jim picks up on it just as soon as it begins.

 

“It’s gone quiet over there,” Oswald remarks in throwing a look behind the ambulance over his shoulder. “You have the opportunity to use this time wisely and open the back of this ambulance.” Jim stands and pries the back door open, jumps up and kicks the contents out, clearing the two of them a space to better further this affair. Oswald wriggles up and sits against the closed doors. Jim undresses in front of him a little bashfully, hands lingering on every button of his shirt and every snap on his pants. Oswald doesn’t object so he continues, coming to stand in front of him nude from head to toe.

 

It’s almost as if Jim can hear the breath leave Oswald’s lungs. Never before has he felt so raw in front of someone. Oswald rears up on one of his knees and rests before Jim, looking up at him for affirmation that what he’s about to receive is fully welcomed. Jim nods and relinquishes control of himself to this man, giving away any inhibitions and accepting new judgments on his body.

 

Oswald first goes to Jim’s legs, senses instantly going towards thighs strung with powerful muscle and blonde hair. He buries his nose where Jim’s hips hold his legs into place and inhales, capturing the smell of man and soap and fear-induced sweat from earlier. He takes the skin where it’s at its thinnest, coincidentally where it’s stretched across bone, and worries it between the two rows of his uneven bite to where weals are rising in the surface. Jim is groaning above him, hand hovering uncertainly at the crown of Oswald’s head. He finally musters up the courage, in his blind arousal, to grip strands of black hair between his sweaty fingers.

 

Oswald begins to nose at his hard cock, hair trailing against Jim’s tense stomach as he works the first third into his mouth. Jim gasps almost on command, belly bowing over the front of Oswald’s head to make him go even deeper. Lowering his jaw to let the grit of his lower teeth drag on the sensitive underside of Jim’s cock, Oswald moans around it and begins to loosen his pants. It doesn’t take long before he’s stroking himself in time with his mouth around Jim’s dick. He comes just shortly after Jim does, his moaning having raised maybe half an octave since they began. For a while there in the past he was almost shamed for the noises he made but here now, here with Jim, past transgressions are on the floor with the rest of their garments. Meanwhile, Jim is gasping, cock pulsing lightly and releasing streaks of come down Oswald’s throat, when Oswald gives an aborted groan and comes in his trousers.

 

They part willingly, sitting beside one another on a stretcher long since abandoned in the back. Oswald tries to regain his breath while Jim seems unperturbed by the happenstances of the last few minutes. He lets out one long, shuddery breath and leans over to Oswald. He kisses almost languidly after sex, Oswald notes quietly, like all his energy not spent kissing before is used sparingly after. Jim tastes himself on Oswald’s tongue and sighs. A final stroke to Oswald’s hair and they separate even more so, the faint ping of gunfire drawing them back to the other world they so brilliantly built for themselves.


End file.
